


Promises

by HighKingMargo



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighKingMargo/pseuds/HighKingMargo
Summary: It's Fillorian tradition to propose with a knife, so Margo takes the first opportunity she gets to bring one to Fen.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> After season 4, everybody lives, magic and time are unfucked. No realism or drama, just happy wlw. Happy lesbian day of visibility! Inspired by [this post](https://fuckyeahklaus.tumblr.com/post/184447632308).

Margo studied the dagger in her hands, all polished silver filigree and dark-stained mahogany. She’d had the handle engraved with floral patterns and a pearl set into the pommel. It was, by far, the most ludicrously beautiful piece of weaponry she had ever seen.

She slid the blade back into its matching scabbard and hid it in the folds of her tunic. It had been several pains in the ass to get unbanished from Fillory, including searing the still-tender brands off of her wrists, but none of that really mattered. She’d been through worse, and it was all made easier by the return of magic, so who really gave a shit?

That, of course, is how Margo came to be standing in Castle Whitespire’s entrance hall before Fen even knew she was there. It felt good. The sunlight and the breeze, laden with magic and the slightest hint of opium, sifted through the latticed windows along the hall, and there was no whimsical Fillorian threat, no threat from the Gods, no threat from the Library. It was just her and her former castle and the woman she’d come to see at the other end of it.

It was a fast decision, maybe, but it was one she was certain of. Quentin had suggested that she may not be giving it its full weight because she was used to the idea being tied to a ring, not a blade, but she knew better. Of course she did; she’d run the goddamn kingdom long enough to know its basest traditions.

So she strode through the doors of the throne room without a second thought, ignoring the new guards stationed who clearly didn’t know the situation. Fen looked up from the table she sat writing at and immediately waved the guards away, dropping her quill and bounding up from her chair.

“Margo!” she called. Margo couldn’t stop her from wrapping her in a tight embrace but, despite her usual distaste for physical affection, she relaxed into the hug and let Fen’s welcoming earthy scent wash over her. “It’s so good to see you back here,” Fen said when she finally released her, though she kept Margo’s hands caught in her own. “I was going to visit soon to see if you wanted to come back. The castle’s not the same without you.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Margo said. “I’m a gift. And speaking of gifts…”

Fen tilted her head as Margo reached into her tunic for the dagger. The High King may have come into her kingly fashion sense—pants, mostly, and clean cuts and bold, royal colors—but she was still so gentle underneath it all. Unless someone really pissed her off, every one of her movements exuded softness and kindness. It had sickened Margo at one point, when she’d been playing docile housewife to Eliot, but after realizing what Fen was really capable of it was endearing. A woman who could go through so much and come out just as sweet as any innocent farm girl was worth admiring.

So Margo drew the blade from its hiding place, unsheathed it, and presented it handle-first to Fen. Back in the dark ages (the Fillorian dark ages, that is—much darker than present Fillory), the receiver of a betrothal knife would be free to use it to kill the proposer if they felt the proposal inappropriate. Now, keeping the blade pointed back toward her was more of a symbolic gesture, but she liked the idea.

Fen’s mouth gaped a little as she took in exactly what this dagger stood for. “Margo, this…” she shook her head. “Do you know what you’re asking me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Margo said. “Why do you think it’s so fancy? It took me three days of spellwork to get all the details right.” She sheathed the blade again and set it on the table. “I know it’s sudden, and I don’t really do all that big sappy speech bullshit, but after everything we’ve been through I need you to understand how I feel. No presh or anything, but the offer is there.”

To an onlooker, Margo would look as cool and collected as ever, chin high and a lazy air of confidence about her, but in truth she hadn’t given much thought to what it would be like waiting for Fen to consider such a grand decision. She’d never admit to anyone the anxious, uncertain nerves buzzing around her chest.

But Fen grinned like she knew a very good, deeply funny secret, and she leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Margo’s lips before turning toward the bird cage on the other side of the room. There was a heavy oak chest inside between the cushioned benches that Margo had once used to store her crown during her Earth visits before she’d become High King herself. When Fen produced the key to open it, she could see the three remaining crowns still inside, but there was something else.

Fen presented the dagger handle first as Margo had, somehow smiling both sheepishly and unabashedly in a way Margo adored. It was an elegant blackened-steel kris blade with a pearlescent handle, gold accents shining on the cross guard and creeping down the center of the blade.

“I forged this during your banishment,” Fen said, and Margo blinked. Was she crying? “I didn’t know if you would ever come back to Fillory with everything going on, but I promised myself that if you did, I would ask you to be my wife.” She paused to wipe her eyes and let out a small laugh. “It’s traditionally the royalty who proposes, you know.”

Margo grinned. “When have you ever known me to play by the rules?”

They both dissolved into laughter for a moment before Margo retrieved the silver dagger from the table. In what world would something so good play out by chance? Not any she was familiar with, but she found herself wanting to accept it, to take a turn of good fortune at face value. Why question it?

They presented the daggers at the same time and accepted them in unison. It seemed almost silly at first, like they were children playing a game, but the weight settled in Margo’s chest when she held the black blade, the product of Fen’s skill, of her love, in her hands. She didn’t bother wiping away the wetness in her eyes.

“God,” Margo said, “I really fucking love you, you know that? But don’t you dare tell anyone you’re seeing me like this.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Fen said. “I just gave you a knife! I’m not ready to die just yet. Not to mention—” Her voice lowered to a dramatic whisper— “the one you gave me would snap off at the hilt if I tried to stab back.”

Margo snorted. “Hey,” she said, “it’s pretty! Looks beat function when it comes to betrothal knives, okay? New rule I just made up.”

“It is beautiful,” Fen said. “Shall we go tell everyone?”

Margo shook her head. She pulled Fen forward by her lapels and kissed her. “Later,” she said. “Right now it’s just you and me and this castle. Let’s use it.”


End file.
